


Dating Game

by TheMalapert



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Comedy, Dirty Talk, Drinking, Drunk Jaskier | Dandelion, Fluff, Geralt and Yen are Nasty, Getting Together, Light Angst, Minor Aiden/Lambert (The Witcher), Minor Eskel/Triss (The Witcher), Multi, OT3, Party Games, Polyamory Negotiations, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 03:42:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29343765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMalapert/pseuds/TheMalapert
Summary: Jaskier, armed with his trusty margarita, can’t help himself when Geralt and Yennefer start bombing a couples question game at their own dinner party. He ends up taking over, and the game reveals a little bit more than wether he knows their favorite ice cream toppings.(But he knows that too.)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 42
Kudos: 286





	Dating Game

**Author's Note:**

> TW, squick alert: there is a point where Geralt and Yen have sex while Jaskier is asleep next to them. Nothing untoward happens, but I thought I’d warn ahead of time.

The dating game was Triss’ idea. They were all appropriately tipsy for a Saturday get together, and a question game seemed the perfect thing to wind down the evening. Yennefer, of course, proclaimed they would be participating since they were, after all, on again as of 11PM the previous night. Geralt tried not to wish unholy wrath upon Yennefer’s friends—often—but he found himself sending a quick vengeful prayer to Melitele when he saw the list of questions. 

Who had a favorite ice cream topping? 

Ice cream was ice cream, and sometimes it came with extras. Geralt had only had toppings once in his life which was Jaskier’s fault, so he didn’t think that was enough to make a definitive answer. 

There were definitely a _lot_ of things he didn’t want read aloud, but this was the fucking party game. Yen was scribbling away at hers, so Geralt sucked it up and tried to keep the blush to something he could blame on alcohol. 

Maybe he could blame Jaskier, considering he was the one who brought the game in the first place. He brought like eight games, though, so Geralt supposed they had a one in eight chance of playing out his nightmares. Jaskier could take one eighth of the blame. As if thinking of him caused him to appear, Jaskier popped up from behind the couch Geralt and Yen were using. His eyes were already pleasantly glassy, cheeks ruddy from one too many of Lambert's “margaritas.”

Jaskier passed Geralt his drink who barely had time to accept it before Jaskier was crawling over the back of the couch. He did some painful-looking drunk gymnastics until he was slumped over but mostly upright, sinking into the cushions between Geralt and Yen. 

“Don’t look like such a sourpuss,” Jaskier said, only a hint of a slur. He tilted into Geralt, falling heavily into said sourpuss’ side as he reached over to take his drink back. Geralt had half a mind to cut Jaskier off, but he figured if Jaskier’s lips were on the glass, then they couldn’t be anywhere else getting him in trouble. 

“This is how I always look,” Geralt retorted. 

Jaskier giggled against his shoulder. “I _know.”_

“Jaskier,” Yennefer snapped, and the musician went like a puppet called to its master. “Don’t distract Geralt. He’s still thinking.”

Jaskier scooted over and snuggled up to Yen. He tried to take a peek at her answers, but Yennefer was notoriously paranoid about cheating at board games. He wasn’t even in the game, but Yennefer took no chances. They were still getting whiteboards to play, but it sped things up a lot when everyone had at least an idea of the questions and their answers before the game started. Less momentary panic.

Triss was running it, and as the whiteboards got distributed, everyone at Geralt and Yennefer’s little apartment soiree gathered ‘round to watch the two long-term couples duke it out. Things were looking good for Team Lambden, snuggled together on the loveseat. They were looking confident; they were looking in love. Triss kept a close eye on them for any unlawful peeking, but nothing yet seemed amiss. Yenralt, on the other hand, had oceans—and a sexy musician—between them, but they’d never needed public displays of affection to prove they were the coolest couple in town. Except for that one time when they fucked in an abandoned house in broad daylight with their friends right outside—

Yennefer slapped Jaskier’s thigh and hissed, “Stop narrating!”

Had he been saying all that out loud? 

“Oops,” he stage-whispered. 

“Okay, why don’t we get started?” Triss said. “Anyone want to go first?”

“Dibs,” Lambert said, and he winked at Geralt. Finally there was something he could beat his older brother at. If there was one thing he knew in the world, it was Aiden. 

“What is Aiden’s favorite TV show?” Triss asked, primly putting the question card aside. 

“Easy, it’s—“

“Write it down, please,” Triss said. Lambert’s lip pulled up into a sneer, but Aiden pushed at his knee. Lambert grinned, distracted, and knocked his knee into Aiden’s. When they wrapped up their sickening display of puppy love, Lambert flipped his board around to show HISTORY CHANNEL MONSTER QUEST. 

“Seriously?” Jaskier blurted out. 

Aiden turned his around to reveal the answer matched. He shrugged and said, “They have like five episodes about bigfoot. You know I love my big hairy men.”

There was a unanimous groan as Aiden leaned over to peck Lambert’s cheek. 

“Alright, this one’s for Yennefer,” Triss said, plucking another card from the game. “What is Geralt’s favorite animal?”

“Too easy!” Jaskier heckled, and Geralt elbowed his stomach. Jaskier jumped at the sharp hit to his belly, margarita tipping dangerously before settling down again. 

“Dogs,” Yennefer said, flipping her whiteboard like a contestant on Survival.

Geralt hesitated. 

She curved one groomed eyebrow up, and he didn’t look her in the eye as he showed his answer. 

“Well, they don’t technically match,” Triss hedged, and Jaskier was laughing so hard he actually did spill some margarita onto his jeans. 

“You realize the question meant your favorite type of animal, not the literal name of your literal favorite animal,” Yennefer said. 

“I know that _now.”_ Geralt harshly scrubbed his neatly written _Roach_ from his whiteboard. 

“Where is Roachie?” Jaskier squirmed to sit up straighter, casting a wild gaze about the room. “Where’s my sweet girl?”

“She doesn’t like you,” Geralt grumbled, and Jaskier swung his head to glare at his long time best friend, their faces not far apart enough to protect Geralt from the bitter lime-tequila scent. 

“Roach loves me!” Jaskier said. 

“Well, she’s in our room if you want the bite marks to prove it.” 

Jaskier stumbled gracelessly to his feet, his equilibrium held steady by sheer spite, and he marched to the master bedroom. The game continued behind him. 

Aiden scored with a correct guess on Lambert’s dream job—sexy calendar model. Triss gave them an extra point because Aiden got the month correct. It turned out Lambert was a July kind of guy. Immediately following, Geralt bombed hard on the seemingly innocuous question of how many siblings Yennefer had. Geralt put 0 for the very solid reasoning that however many children were in the home Yennefer occupied until her father could legally turn her out, those were all half-siblings. Yennefer put 6.

Triss avoided family questions for the rest of the night. 

They were back around to Yennefer after Lambert clocked Aiden’s number of exes correctly at 17. She and Geralt hardly had enough time to scribble their answers when Jaskier called from the bedroom, “Home Alone!”

“Jaskier, you’re not playing,” Eskel reminded him, but a raspberry was all he got in answer. 

Yennefer’s eyes sliced to her boyfriend. “You told me we always watched Home Alone because it was Jaskier’s favorite Christmas movie.”

Geralt flipped his whiteboard to reveal the incomplete _Home Al,_ so unless there was some other Christmas movie that involved a Smart House type yule disaster…

“Well, that is because Geralt is a lying liar,” Jaskier said, trotting back into the living room. “Exibibit, no. Ex-ribbit. _Ekssibit A!”_

Jaskier proudly displayed his prize—a bored looking sausage of a dog that seemed to accept her fate with all the grace of a high schooler at an assembly. To be fair, there were teeth marks on his arm, but Roach always got her aggression out of the way before submitting to Jaskier’s incessant touching. She was much like her owner in that regard. 

“My favorite Christmas movie is the Muppets one, and yours,” Jaskier said, pointing a crooked finger at Yennefer. “Is Die Hard because you hate Christmas.”

“Damn, someone start tallying his points,” Aiden chuckled as Jaskier plopped himself back down between the two losers. Eskel leaned over from where he’d perched on the arm of Triss’ chair, and he whispered something in her ear. 

“What an excellent idea, Aiden!” Triss crooned. “Jaskier, why don’t you take over for Geralt and Yen, since they’re not quite in sync tonight.” She gave them a wink. 

They were both about to protest when Eskel asked, “How many siblings does Jaskier have?”

“Three,” they answered in near unison. Eskel had never looked so smug, not even after Vesemir said he adamantly didn’t want goats but he found Lil Bleater in the old man’s lap not two days later. 

“Not gunna write. Have Roach,” Jaskier decided, but Triss shook her head sweetly. 

“You won’t have to. Geralt and Yen will write down their answers, and you can just say them out loud,” Triss said. 

Jaskier levelled a drunken glare at Lambert and Aiden. “You’re goin’ down,” he slurred, giving a Roman Emperor thumbs down. 

“You’re already behind, buttercup,” Aiden replied breezily, hooking an arm over Lambert’s shoulders. 

Jaskier squirmed, dog in his lap and two stiff statues bookending the couch. He ended up with one leg strewn over Geralt’s lap and one side of his face squished to Yennefer’s shoulder. Roach stayed precariously perched in his slumped lap. Jaskier flipped Aiden off, making the room erupt into an easy laughter. All except his less than cuddly book ends, of course. 

“Don’t worry,” Jaskier said with a toothy grin, beaming up at Yennefer’s slightly constipated frown. “I got this.”

“Hmm,” she said back, and for a moment, Jaskier’s dizzy brain thought he’d leaned on Geralt who was borrowing Yennefer’s face. 

“Alright, that’s one to team, um, Yen-asker-alt, and four to team Lambden. This one’s for you, Aiden. Where was the last place you had sex?”

Aiden watched with a cat’s grin as Lambert hunched in on himself to write his answer. They hadn’t been dating for as long as their opponents in net amount of time, but they were old hats enough to be out of the honeymoon phase. Surely, they weren’t still fucking like rabbits in questionable places…? Then again, maybe they were moving from the honeymoon to the exploring kinks phase which would explain why Lambert’s cheeks were doing their best impressions of tomatoes. 

“In the car on the way here,” Aiden said when Lambert finally stopped writing. 

Lambert stared a hole into the floor as he showed his answer: car.

“That’s dangerous!” Jaskier gasped. 

“We were parked,” Lambert grumbled, and he smacked his boyfriend when Aiden started cackling. 

Eskel picked a card from the box and slipped it to Triss, her eyes lighting up. “Okay, Jaskier, they’ve got a bit of a lead on you. Can you tell us—what are Geralt and Yen’s favorite sex positions for _recieving.”_

“Oh, receiving?” Jaskier mused, scratching over Roach’s ears. 

“Now you break out the interesting ones, huh?” Geralt scowled at Eskel and took another swig of his beer that had gone warm. 

“You want to try and answer? We’re already house rule-ing the shit out of this game,” Eskel said, and Geralt’s fingers fiddled with the marker. He would never live it down if he got it wrong. He didn’t look over to see if Yen was watching when he rolled his eyes at his brother. 

“Alright, I’ve got it. We’re good? I’ve got it,” Jaskier said. “Yennefer likes cowgirl, and Geralt likes a very traditional doggy-style.”

“How the _fuck—“_

Yennefer slapped her board across her knees, startling Jaskier off her shoulders. 

“Sure, mine’s not that hard to guess, but I _know_ Geralt has not talked to you about how he likes my strap,” she hissed. Geralt sunk further into the couch as his face started to look a lot like Lambert’s had earlier. 

“You see, my dar _rrr_ ling Yennefer of Vengerbug. Yen. Yenny from the block. Once upon a time, I was hailed to be a sober ferryman of your plastered souls, and you started sexting each other in my car. You could barely get _in_ my car. I don’t wanna know how you planned on getting _in_ each other!” Jaskier took a gasping breath and then plunged back into the story. “‘Nfortunately, you were both still in our group chat, so I got to see Geralt begging to go on his knees for you—“

Geralt’s hand descended over Jaskier’s face, and Jaskier immediately tried to lick it off to no avail. 

“Will you _shut up,”_ Geralt growled, yanking his friend upright like a chastising schoolteacher. The jerky movement upset Roach in his lap, and she decided she’d had enough shenanigans, hopping with her little twig legs to the floor. 

Jaskier had classic Shakespearian theater training, and yet no one doubted that the tragic despair that whipped across his face was anything but genuine. His eyes watered, brows scrunching together. He reached out with one trembling hand, grasping at air. 

“Roach,” he croaked. 

Geralt’s lips came together in a way that usually meant he was angry, but around Jaskier, it meant he was pouting. He glanced over at his long-suffering dachshund, and she looked back with her shiny marble eyes that said _I am small and clearly can cure all ailments._

Geralt whistled sharply and patted the space between his and Jaskier’s thighs. Roach trotted back over. She attempted the leap, got her belly stuck on the edge, back legs pinwheeling at nothing, until Geralt hoisted her up with a hand at her rump. She nestled into the space, and Jaskier cooed at her, petting lightly over her back. 

“I feel like I just speed watched an episode of Friends,” Eskel said, and Yennefer sneered at him. 

“Well, that’s two to Jaskier, bringing us to three-five in favor of Lambden,” Triss said. 

“Hey!” Lambert’s hand flicked out. “If he gets two points every round, he’ll win no problem!”

“We can keep doing bonuses for you,” Triss negotiated, and Lambert’s head dipped to the side. 

“Acceptable. Now what’s my question?”

Eskel handed her a card, and Triss bit her lip. “Who is Aiden’s top celebrity cheat?”

Aiden started writing, but Lambert narrowed his eyes at his boyfriend. Lambert’s marker nearly made contact, and then he held off, air blowing out of his nose. Finally, he decided on an answer, scribbling it out while everyone waited. 

“Lambert?” Triss gestured to him for his response. 

“We had a conversation about this like last week, so I hope I remembered correctly…” Lambert showed his whiteboard had KEANU REEVES. 

Aiden looked solemn before he triumphantly revealed the matching answer. 

“Okay, bonus. Keanu Reeves in which movie?” Triss asked, and Lambert sucked in his cheeks. 

“You drive a hard bargain,” he said, and Triss flipped her hair over her shoulder. Lambert made a show of chewing on some invisible taffy before Aiden finished writing. Lambert guessed, “Keanu Reeves in Speed.”

Aiden shook his head with an apologetic smile. 

“Are you kidding? I’ve caught you watching that movie like six times since we started dating,” Lambert said. 

“That’s for Sandra Bullock,” Aiden admitted.

“That’s fair,” Triss cut in. She and Aiden shared a look before Aiden flipped his board. 

“Bram Stoker’s Dracula,” he said with a shrug. 

Jaskier doubled over with a hurling noise. “But his _sideburns!”_

“I don’t know.” Aiden shook his head. “It’s something about the period clothing that really… gets me.”

“Alright, so no bonus for Lamben. That’s three-six, and a question to Jaskier,” Triss interjected. She took a card from Eskel and thumbed over the edge. “Other than each other, who are Geralt and Yen’s favorite people? Person. Top person for both of them. Other than their significant other.”

“I think he gets it,” Eskel said, bumping Triss’ shoulder. She quieted with a hard blush and focused on the two subjects of the question. She pointedly ignored how Eskel had wrapped himself over her chair, their skin just barely touching when he reached into the box to cherry-pick the best cards. 

“Yennefer is easy,” Jaskier said when their markers stopped wagging. “Not like that, but her favorite-est person is Triss, _obviously._ Don’t see any other college friends of hers here, do you? Geralt’s is Eskel. No hard feelings, Lambert.”

“Curse of being the little brother,” Lambert sighed. 

They were about to flip their boards when Jaskier’s arms flew out. “Wait!” He cried. “Wait. I want to change Geralt’s answer to Roach. No—Eskel. No! It’s Roach. I’m sorry. That’s my final answer.”

“Usurped by a queen at least,” Eskel muttered and gave a little bow to the rightful owner of Geralt’s heart, Her Weenie Majesty, Roach. 

Geralt and Yennefer both shifted on the couch, throwing each other nervous looks. They seemed to be both psychically communicating and hoping the other wouldn’t notice their squirming. After an expectant pause, they showed their answers to be the same: _Jaskier._

The room seemed smaller when no one was talking. The couch was much too snug for the three of them. The air, much too heavy. Jaskier’s eyes blinked wetly at his name staring back at him twofold. 

His voice, squeaky and thin, said, “Really, you guys? That’s…” He sniffed. “That’s so sweet.”

The tears spilled over his cheeks, and he flung his arms around Yennefer, squishing her to his chest. Her own arms flailed in an attempt to find purchase enough to pry him off, and then he also snagged Geralt with a hand hooked to the side of his head. Jaskier gathered them both close, sniffling all the while, until they settled down and accepted their fates. He smelled like limes. 

“I love you guys too,” Jaskier said, and he was very close to bawling. Openly sobbing. Over a dating question game with two people he was not dating. 

And Eskel was giving Geralt this _look._ Like pity? Like it was Geralt’s fault Jaskier was a weepy drunk? Except—and fuck Eskel into all seven hells—his brother had once coaxed it out of Geralt, during one of his own blackout drunk escapades, that Geralt was pretty sure he would have ended up with Jaskier. Like _with_ Jaskier, had Yennefer not come along. But things with Yennefer were better than ever. Even before they agreed to officially date again, they were talking. Communicating. Avoiding so much of the petty shit by understanding themselves and their needs better. 

All Jaskier’s idea, of course, but that was beside the point. 

“Alright,” Yennefer said, wrestling herself out of Jaskier’s grip. “I think game time is over. I think it’s time to get you to bed.”

“Noooooooo _oooo!”_ Jaskier whined, but Yennefer untangled her boyfriend from Jaskier’s arm. 

“Yes, it is. Come on. Up,” Yennefer commanded in _that tone._

Roach leapt from the couch and trotted away. 

“Look, even Roach knows it’s time to go to bed. Come on, Jaskier.” Yennefer crossed her arms, one eyebrow raised, but Jaskier sunk further into the couch. 

“This is tyranny! Are you going to stand for this?” Jaskier exclaimed, pleading with the couple across from them. 

“Finishing while we’re ahead? Um, yeah, I’m alright with that,” Aiden said with a grin. 

“Winners get the guest room,” Lambert declared, hopping off the loveseat. He took Aiden’s hand and hauled him up, the two escaping to the cozy extra bedroom. 

“Don’t even think about having sex!” Yennefer called after them. 

“Too late!” Lambert yelled back, and the door shut with a wooden crack. Geralt groaned. 

“Triss, Eskel, you can fight over the couch and the blow up mattress, but we’ve already got the mattress inflated. It’s just in this closet here.” Yennefer walked away to sort out the sleeping arrangements, and Jaskier burrowed his face into the cushions. 

Geralt’s eyes slid over to his friend. He asked quietly, “Did you really think I’d pick Roach over you?”

“She’s great,” Jaskier mumbled, and Geralt put a sturdy hand on his shoulder, peeling Jaskier from the couch. 

“You’re great too,” Geralt said. 

Jaskier smashed his face back into the couch. 

When Yennefer returned, she laid a soft hand on Jaskier’s head. Her fingers burrowed into his hair, lightly scratching at his scalp until he was humming his pleasure. Jaskier tilted his face, exposing just enough to crack one eye open. 

“Why you gotta be so nice to me when you’re being mean to me?” He pouted, pressing into the scratches like a cat. 

“I’m just complicated like that, I guess,” Yennefer said. “Come on, up. Eskel is on the couch tonight. You can sleep with us.”

Geralt raised an eyebrow at his girlfriend, but she primly did not look at him. Usually after their parties, Jaskier liked to curl up on the loveseat since he was the only one who would scrunch enough to fit. It wasn’t like they’d _never_ shared beds with Jaskier—him and Geralt in college and him and Yennefer on their wine trip down the coast last year. Still, Eskel was giving Geralt that _look_ again. 

Between Geralt and Yennefer, they were able to get Jaskier off the couch. It mostly involved Jaskier going boneless and Geralt supporting his weight with a tight arm around his waist. They dragged him, nearly literally, into their bedroom. Upon face-planting into the soft sheets Yennefer spent a king’s ransom on, he toed off his shoes and inchwormed his way to the headboard.

“Oh, so now you want to be in bed?” Yennefer asked. 

“Comfy,” Jaskier said. He slithered under the covers head first, so only his feet poked out at the top. 

“You have to get ready for bed, or else we’ll make you sleep on the floor,” Yennefer threatened, and her lips curled into something like a smile when the Jaskier shaped lump in her bed rolled petulantly side to side. 

“Comfy!” Jaskier protested, muffled by the thick blankets. 

“Wouldn’t it be comfier without jeans?” 

Yennefer may not have won anything in the dating game, but she knew how to win against drunk Jaskier. She heard a put upon sigh from underneath the comforter, and then the wriggling started. She started to get ready on her own—pajamas, bathroom, hair. Geralt flowed neatly around her, their routine long since established. He had only just moved all his stuff back in from the guest bedroom, and only because they were having people over who would be there to see it. Yennefer planned this evening carefully, so that Geralt didn’t have one basketball short out the door when they were trying to work their shit out. Done with her tasks and leaving the hairbrush on the counter for Geralt, Yennefer ducked under the counter to grab the spare toothbrush they kept for Jaskier. She also grabbed a disposable flossing pick for good measure. 

Her body stuttered to a stop when she saw Jaskier sitting nearly naked on her bed. 

He looked good. She knew he looked good; she’d been to his rehearsals where he went all out each time, jumping and raving, damn near doing acrobatics only to smile, brush his bangs from his face, and ask for one more run through. It was different to see that hairy chest, so antithetical to his boyish face, on display with his legs splayed out, thighs jutting from short, loose boxers. Geralt nearly bumped into her on his way out of the bathroom, and he choked on his own spit, bringing Jaskier’s attention to the pair frozen in the doorway. 

“I didn’t bring pajamas,” Jaskier pouted. 

Yennefer rolled her eyes. “You never do.”

He caught the shirt she threw at him with his face, and it took him long enough to wrestle it on that Geralt had time to go grab three glasses of water from the kitchen. Yennefer waited patiently on the side of the bed until Jaskier was done, and she handed him the toothbrush. She knew there was no getting him to the bathroom, but even a dry brush would be better than nothing. He scrubbed furiously over his teeth and with great focus. Geralt was sliding into bed when Jaskier handed it back, trading for the disposable floss. Yennefer took the toothbrush back to the bathroom and then finally slid into bed on the other side. 

Again, Jaskier was between them, and it felt almost… natural. 

“Goodnight, Jaskier,” Yennefer said. 

“Mmmhfmm,” Jaskier replied. His hips wiggled as he settled in, and then he dropped off like a brick in the sea. 

It was quiet. 

The covers rustled as Geralt got comfortable, and Yennefer turned out the light. Her pillow wasn’t the right fluffiness; Jaskier was using her regular one. She kneaded it a couple times, tested, then kneaded a little more. Geralt shifted to sit up a bit to drink some water. Finally, everything went still. Minutes ticked by, metronomed by Jaskier’s even breathing. 

“Hey,” Geralt whispered. “You still awake?”

“What, is this a sleepover?” Yennefer snarked. 

Geralt hesitated. “Kinda.”

“What do you want?”

“Do you think it’s bad that Jaskier knows more about us than we know each other?” 

Yennefer stared at the streaks of dull yellow light on their ceiling that leaked in from the street lamps outside. 

“It’s just a dumb game,” Yennefer said, but she didn’t sound very sure of that. 

“What’s Jaskier’s dream job?” Geralt asked. 

With snide exasperation, they said in unison, “Renaissance Faire musician.”

“Who’s Jaskier’s celebrity crush?” Yennefer asked. She propped herself on one arm, hardly able to see her boyfriend in the dark. 

Again, together they answered, “Charlize Theron.”

“Fuck,” Geralt whispered. “I don’t even have one of those.”

They both stiffened when Jaskier made an odd sound like a really gruff kitten. He smacked his lips, arms pushing out to jab Yennefer in the stomach and smack Geralt’s cheek with his forearm. 

“Still talking?” Jaskier garbled, mostly just the vowels coming out. “G’night means _shhhh.”_

He found Yennefer’s hand in the sheets, and he tangled their fingers together. His other hand bumped down Geralt’s throat, his clavicle, until it rested over a firm pec. 

“Mmmm, tiddy,” Jaskier said, and then he was asleep again. 

Yennefer stifled her laughter into her pillow. 

“He takes your hand, but he grabs my pec. Somehow this feels backwards,” Geralt complained, except not really; he wasn’t. It felt too nice to have Jaskier’s hand, so familiar but so new, linger. Jaskier was always free with his touches, but he made sure never to cross certain lines. There was a time when Geralt thought there hadn’t been enough lines, but now maybe there were too many. 

“I’m sorry. He’s grabbing your tiddy. That’s the technical term,” Yennefer said, and if there wasn’t a best friend between them, he would have wiped that laugh from her tone. With his lips. “I think you should be grateful. Even in his sleep, he doesn’t want _my_ tiddy.”

“And which one of us has a sonnet crown dedicated to their tits?” 

“It’s not the whole crown, just the one sonnet. The others are about my ass and my wardrobe,” Yennefer replied, and he could hear the smile he wanted to kiss so bad.

“I’d write one about you, but I think you’d have me shot for how bad it’d be,” Geralt said, and the covers rustled. Then he felt the sheets shift over his legs, a foot prod at his thigh. 

“Do you wanna—?”

“Fuck, yes.” 

Yennefer slunk over Jaskier’s sleeping form like a panther on the prowl, and Geralt tossed the covers back, careful not to expose Jaskier to the cool room air. He seemed dead to the world. When Geralt reached up to move Jaskier’s hand, Yennefer caught him. 

“Why don’t you leave it?” She asked in that cloying, seductive tone that never failed to get him to do something fucking strange. Or rather, to do some strange fucking. 

“I think that violates the C in safe, sane, and consensual,” Geralt said, nudging Jaskier’s hand off his tit. “And probably the second S.”

“So you’ll fuck me next to your best friend, but you won’t leave his hand where he put it?” 

She was just being contrary, Geralt knew, so he let the conversation tilt off as they worked to rip off her little pajama shorts. He arched his back, sliding his own shorts down far enough to pull out his half-hard dick. The movement jostled the mattress, and they both froze as Jaskier readjusted himself. He was still totally asleep, though, and Yennefer licked over her palm, wrapping the spit-slicked hand around Geralt. He choked off a groan in the back of his throat. In retaliation, he dipped between her legs to rub harshly at her clit. She bit her lip, shoulders jumping as she inhaled in surprise. She was always the more vocal one. If this was some weird sex contest, he was going to win. Then she twisted her hand, making a tight circle around the fat head of his cock and focusing a couple pulls there. Fuck, he wasn’t so sure about victory anymore. 

“In me,” she demanded, rising onto her knees to line him up. He dipped two fingers into her wet heat and found her aroused enough that they wouldn’t tear anything rushing like this. It would hurt just a little bit, just the way Yennefer liked sometimes. 

As she sank down over his length, something stupid made Geralt say, “Oh, you didn’t want to hold his hand while we fuck? Wanted him to be touching my tiddies. You want him to touch you too?”

A startled moan turned itself over in her throat, and she bottomed out. He couldn’t see where she was looking in the dark, but her head twitched just barely towards their bedfellow. Her breath stuttered; Geralt could practically feel her wild heartbeat _through her motherfucking cunt._

“You like that, don’t you? You want him to touch you while I fuck you? Want him to touch these?” Geralt caught her breasts in his grip, thumbing over her nipples. Her hips moved in short, aborted thrusts that rubbed the head of his cock over that particularly delicious place inside her. 

“You like that too,” Yennefer said. Not a question—a breathless statement of fact, and her walls clenched around him, punching air from his lungs. 

_“Fuck,”_ he spat. Geralt reached between them and braced his fingers where their bodies joined so she could grind down onto his calloused fingertips. 

“You know his favorite position to take is on his back like the pretty little whore he is,” Yennefer said. “You like that. You like fucking like its our goddamn wedding night—“

“Don’t usually hear you complaining,” Geralt grunted. 

“—bet he’d love this cock, and I could have my favorite at the same time. How fast d’you think we could make him come? Your cock, my cunt.” Yennefer was barely managing to whisper anymore, her filthy fantasies interrupted by involuntary whines as she approached her peak. 

“Fuck, Yen!” One of Geralt’s hands gripped her ass hard, and the other met her thrust for thrust against her clit. 

“Say his name when you come inside me,” she commanded, and he arched off the bed. 

He turned, hair digging into his face, to look at Jaskier. The musician was magically still asleep, breathing peaceful, oblivious to the whirlwind barely contained just next to him. His bangs fell haphazardly over his eyes, those long lashes hardly visible, except that Geralt didn’t need any light to see Jaskier. He always saw Jaskier. He saw those ocean blue eyes, never once squinted in fear. He saw those practiced fingers, long and perfect. Those ever-talking lips, still. Like they were waiting for Geralt’s. 

_“Jaskier,”_ Geralt rasped, and his orgasm broke over him. Yennefer rode him through it, chasing her own, eyes likewise cast down at their slumbering friend. 

He felt it when she came, pulsing over his spent cock. She slipped off of him, and he undulated his fingers against her, drawing it out until she was quivering at his side. When her hands brushed him away, he also turned on his side and rested an arm over her waist. He felt her breath, each one slower than the last. 

“Ugh, we should both pee before we sleep,” Yennefer said finally. 

“Comfy,” Geralt protested in an echo of her earlier argument with Jaskier. 

She snorted and rolled out of bed. “Don’t you start. I’m not getting another UTI because we don’t clean up after sex.”

He followed her into the bathroom after an appropriate basking period. He swiped a washcloth over the newly sweaty bits and then heeded her suggestion to avoid infections. She brushed through her hair again. She offered the hairbrush to Geralt, but he was already back in their room, snuggling down where the sheets hadn’t lost their warmth. 

Jaskier slept on. 

“We should probably talk about this,” Yennefer said as she returned to her usual side of the bed. 

“Hmmm.”

A sigh. 

“Goodnight, Geralt.”

“Night, Yen. Love you.”

“I love you too.”

...

The sordid details of Jaskier’s morning after weren’t worth mentioning. The important thing was that he was less hungover than he expected, and he was sticking to that story. 

Waking up between the power couple had barely pinged Jaskier’s consciousness, considering the host of other things clamoring for his attention. With those addressed, he was highly considering crawling back under the covers—maybe accomplishing some cuddling and blaming it on the sleep. But by the time he finished drawing himself back to the land of the living, Yennefer and Geralt had drifted together whilst slumbering, his space no longer there. 

Well, that was always temporary. 

Jaskier didn’t let the symbolism get him down as he drifted to the kitchen. The pantry held two open boxes of poptarts. One blueberry and one brown sugar cinnamon because Geralt had gotten fed up with Jaskier’s indecisiveness and had shoved them both in the cart. He faced the same dilemma now. 

“I’ll split a package of blueberry with you,” Eskel said, coming up behind him like a ghost. 

Jaskier didn’t jump; he was used to it from Geralt. He did, however, scoff at the suggestion of sharing. “I’d eat the whole box if the sugar high wouldn’t make Yen want to castrate me.”

“Yeah…” 

At the mention of Yennefer, Jaskier’s shoulders sagged. He put his forehead against the doorframe, eyes squeezing shut. 

“How bad was it?” He asked, unsure if he wanted the answer. Everyone knew he was in love with the star crossed couple. Hell, he’d be surprised if _Vesemir_ hadn’t caught on by now. 

“You took over playing a couple’s game for them,” Eskel said as if that explained it all. It did, but Jaskier needed to hear someone say it out loud in the _you dumbass_ voice. 

“I just get so competitive when I’m drunk,” Jaskier lamented. He decided on brown sugar and went to slump over on one of the barstools. 

“You should talk to them about it,” Eskel said with a shrug. “Seriously! I’m not saying they’ll sweep you off your feet and make sweet Harlequin Romance love to you, but…”

“They’ll make it weird. We know them, Eskel, and they don’t handle feelings, and I already annoy the shit out of them being a third wheel. I don’t think third wheel who’s also very in love with you is gunna fly,” Jaskier said. 

Before Eskel could puzzle out an answer to make Jaskier feel better, Triss meandered her way into the kitchen with a hoarse, “Good morning.”

Jaskier took one look at her mussed hair, her darkened cheeks, her inability to look at Eskel, and his mouth fell open. Eskel elbowed him in the ribs, making Jaskier choke around his mouthful of poptart. 

“Morning,” Eskel replied. 

Jaskier turned on him and mouthed, _the couch?_

Eskel’s lip pulled up to show off one canines. He skirted around the bar to help Triss grab a glass from the top shelf, and she blushed something fierce but took the cup. 

“The _air mattress?”_ Jaskier asked, scandalized, and it wasn’t until Triss’ gaze jumped to him that he realized he said it out loud. 

“Jaskier, could you…?” Triss tilted her head, and Jaskier scrambled off the barstool. 

“Yeah, just make sure you clean up before Geralt gets out here. You know he’s sensitive.” 

Jaskier went on his way, retracing his steps to the master bedroom. He fully expected Yen and Geralt to still be asleep, but when he closed the door behind him, he heard a telltale moan from the lumps underneath the comforter. The _moving_ lumps. 

“Ah, fuck,” Jaskier cursed under his breath. Yennefer’s head bobbed up from the pillow, and she pierced him with a dark look. “Sorry, I’ll just—“

“Wait, Jaskier,” Yennefer said.

She squirmed for a moment, and Jaskier was _not_ imagining what was happening underneath that blanket. Otherwise he’d have a very awkward boner that his boxers wouldn’t do shit to hide. Yennefer slid to the edge of the bed, out from beneath the blankets to show that she was decent. Geralt hoisted himself up to sit against the headboard but made no other move. 

“Come here,” Yennefer said, patting the space next to her. “We’d like to talk to you.”

Jaskier lingered near the door. “Sorry if I stepped on toes last night. I was just really drunk, and the game sounded fun.”

“It’s not that. C’mere.” 

He relented and went to sit. He put at least a foot between them, glancing over his shoulder where Geralt lounged against the headboard. Geralt avoided meeting his gaze at first, but then caught it, almost shy.

“You’ve been a really good friend to us,” Yennefer started, and Jaskier groaned. 

“Is this like an intervention or something? Or are you moving to another country?” Jaskier shoved the poptart in his mouth to avoid blurting out anything else, but Yennefer didn’t even look mildly irritated. 

“Just let me get it all out, okay?” Yen nodded slowly until Jaskier joined in with his confirmation that he could keep his mouth shut. “You’re an amazing friend. Better than either of us deserve, really, and we realized last night that we’d like to try and be better to you.”

_Did they get me a little trophy engraved?_ His mind supplied. _#1 Best Friend a couple could have?_ Yennefer glanced over to her boyfriend, and—gods kill him now—they fucking practiced this. 

“We also sort of realized you might have, um, extra feelings towards us,” Geralt managed to say. “Different from friend feelings.”

Jaskier’s face was burning, and he buried his blush in the hand not holding the poptarts. And he took another bite for good measure. 

“It’s not a problem, you guys. I’m a little in love with all my friends,” he said, swallowing a thick glob of cinnamon sugar. 

“But it’s different with us,” Yennefer prodded. 

His heart sunk through the floor. Jaskier couldn’t believe Lambert’s ridiculously strong margaritas were going to be the reason his two most important friendships crashed and burned. With a heavy sigh, Jaskier nodded his head. His eyes started to burn. 

He wasn’t expecting—

“Good.”

He snapped to face them before even thinking about it. Yennefer was smiling like when she had a handful of draw four cards in Uno, and Geralt was shifting, crawling over to their side of the bed with a hectic grin. 

“We decided I get to kiss you first,” Geralt said, and then everything got a little fuzzy. 

Jaskier’s mouth went dry as he answered on autopilot, “Oh, and how did you decide that?”

“Coin toss,” Yennefer shrugged. “My trusty tails betrayed me.”

“It’s alright, babe. You’ve got a great tail,” Geralt said, and he landed a smack somewhere in the vicinity of her ass.

Then Geralt’s fingers were on Jaskier’s jaw, and his face was approaching, and his lips were barely parted, and Jaskier had to interrupt the moment, “Just wait, holy shit. Wait. What the fuck is happening?”

Geralt’s brow furrowed, and he glanced at Yen chewing on her lip. 

“Geralt, we may have skipped the explaining and went right to the kissing,” she said. His face went into what Jaskier dubbed Grumpy Pout mode.

“Hmmm. I don’t recall steps between ‘get Jaskier to tell us his feelings’ and ‘kissing,’” he replied. 

Yen shook her head. “No, there was definitely a step in there about explaining our feelings.”

“Your feelings,” Jaskier parroted. 

Geralt—“Yes.”

“That have something to do with me and kissing.”

Yennefer—“Yes.”

“Because I was under the impression,” Jaskier said. “That you two are in a romantic relationship, and I am your annoying yet somehow loveable friend that you invite over for dinner sometimes because you’re worried about my habit of eating dino nuggets.”

“Well, the dino nuggets are a concern,” Geralt began, and Yennefer finished—

“But, we were wanting to shift that annoying yet somehow loveable friend idea to more like a we don’t want our lives to be without you romantic partner idea.”

Jaskier blinked. 

“With kissing,” he said. 

“Which we could be doing right now.” Geralt leaned forward again, but he watched Jaskier’s face closely. 

“Um, yeah. Okay,” Jaskier said. 

“To the kissing,” Yennefer clarified. 

“To all of it.”

Geralt sealed it with a kiss, and Jaskier could feel the smile against his lips. Geralt was demanding, impatient. His fingers threaded into Jaskier’s hair to yank him into a better position, easier access, for Geralt to plunder. When he pulled away, Jaskier hardly had a moment to breathe before Yennefer was likewise claiming her prize. Laughter bubbled up his throat at how similar, how _eager_ they both were. Geralt’s hand was still in his hair, and Yennefer bunched hers in Jaskier’s borrowed shirt, pressing closer to him as her teeth teased his lips.

“You know we’re going to have to talk about this more, right?” Jaskier asked in the interval that he got traded back to Geralt. Someone’s hand groped over his thigh.

“Could we do the kissing more first?” Geralt asked, mouthing down Jaskier’s neck.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “I think we can manage that.”

Jaskier couldn’t fucking believe Lambert’s margaritas were the reason his two best friends turned into his lovers. 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes I did edit this for like an hour trying to get the word count to 6969 exactly.


End file.
